“Nothing but trouble,” says Nikki Harper today, urging Mark to whip up something special for a dinner or order injust no clichés. She ties a silk scarf around her delicate neck, adds the final touches of a businesswomans look, and hands out commands around the house. “There’s a layer of dust on the balcony table; soon you wont see the laptop at all. Give it a wipe.”
Mark steps out of the kitchen, his broad shoulder bearing a kitchen towel, a freshly washed child’s cup in his hand, a cotton apron over his tee. He leans in to plant a quick kiss on Nikkis cheekher lips already paintedbut she pulls away, irritated.
“Do I have to work at home too? Isnt the office enough?” she snaps.
“You stopped working there, so the dust builds up,” Mark replies calmly, leaving the room.
“When you were home, we at least saw you,” Nikki retorts.
“Thank heavens thats over,” she says, slinging her handbag over her shoulder proudly. “Clear the mess, do the laundry, vacuum, tidy the toys, cookanything! And a thank you?”
“Come on, love, the washing machine handles the dishes, the robot vac does the floor, and the girlswell, theyre just being kids,” Mark sighs, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Theyre not exactly angels.”
“Fine then, if you think so. Im more useful at work than at home. Someone has to bring in the money,” Nikki says, snapping the front door shut as she leaves.
Nikkis mornings are scheduled to the minute: up at six, a jog or some cardio (shes taken up running lately), a contrast shower, breakfast, then makeup and hair on the go. The traffic in central London is a nightmare, but she leaves early enough to avoid any delays, just as today.
A year ago Marks mornings looked similar, except he skipped the exercise and lingered a few extra minutes in the warm bed with his wife. His job was nearby, so he never worried about traffic. By six or seven hed be home, helping Nikki with dinner or tidying up, playing with the girls, and often putting them to bed before helping Nikki clear the living room.
Everything changes a year later. Their younger daughter, Lucy, has been at nursery for two years; the endless sniffles of the adjustment period are gone. Their older daughter, Emily, now thirteen, walks to the nearby primary school and even catches the tram to her dance class on her owntwo stops, a skill Mark taught her. Nikki gets an offer to return to her old office job. She hesitateshome life is decentbut the lure of the workplace and a promised fasttrack promotion convince her. She accepts.
Three months on, Nikki earns her first raise, then a second, plus extra perks and a flexible schedule that she loves. The kids hardly see her, but everyone understands; Mark explains the situation. Nikki cant keep up with the house, motherhood, and being a devoted wife. She comes home late, exhausted.
Mark and Nikki sit down to discuss the dilemma. Mark doesnt blame her; he knows theres no talk of her quitting. They decide to swap roles: Nikki will focus on her career without household interruptions, and Mark will quit his job to take on the thankless domestic duties.
“Eventually youll find something remote,” Nikki coaxed at first, embarrassed that Marknow the one who has to make porridge, hang and iron laundry, collect Lucy from nursery, drive her to the dentist and the younger one to the speech therapistmight need a break. “Youll manage, I know it.”
“You’re clever,” Mark kisses her forehead. “These are the last evenings we spend together as a family. Youre doing great at work, darling.”
Mark throws himself into the new routine. The constant texts from Nikki about which laundry goes where, who needs picking up, and what time to be at the school stop. He handles it all without complaint. The house chores no longer feel like a burden, and the girls dont irritate him the way they did when Nikki came home weary from the office. Meanwhile, at her firm, Nikkis talent shines; colleagues and managers respect her, and shes trusted with any assignment. The compromise lets her excel both as a professional and a woman, and she feels a surge of pride.
Later, the girls and Mark greet her at the front door, noting the cooling dinner. She unties the silk scarf again, feeling the days pressures pile one on another. “Wheres the Nechaev family?” she mutters.
“What?” Mark asks, frustration flaring.
“You said youd”
Nikki glances at him with disdain, as if looking at a subordinate who has overstepped. “I said this weekend!”
“You mentioned today,” Mark protests.
“Mark, have you stopped listening to me?” she snaps, marching into the living room. “Whats this mess? Why didnt you change Lucys outfit? Who pulled the curtain? Did the kids play football inside again? You cant do that inside!”
Mark, Emily, and Lucy stand frozen, unsure how to answer. This scene repeats more often now.
“Is this how you welcome guests?” Nikki gestures at the chaos.
“They have kids too; theyll understand. We were just playing.”
“Mark! Look at yourselfunshaven, stretchedout tee, blank stare,” she chastises, her irritation thick.
Mark, still in a light mood, winks at the girls, trying not to react to his wifes tirade. “Come on, lets get you fed. Exhausted?” he asks gently.
“Yes! Im fed up with this attitude! Cant you just follow simple instructions? Even a fool could manage. You cant earn a living, and you cant handle a mop and dirty plates.”
A flash of anger crosses Marks face, but he chooses not to argue in front of the children. Nikki moves to the kitchen, searching for something to criticize.
“The dinner you ordereddid you think about me? I dont like anything too spicy or greasy. Make me a tea, Im still hungry.”
“Make it yourself!” Mark snaps, scooping Lucy onto his back and lifting Emily like a feather. “Its bedtime, we need to brush teeth. Tomorrow the girls have nursery and school. By the way, Lucy had a photo shoot last week; the pictures have been on the mantel for two days. You didnt even notice.”
They leave, laughing as they go. The bathroom echoes with childrens chatter and running water. After a few minutes, the door to the bedroom shuts and silence falls. Ten minutes later Mark returns to the kitchen. Nikki still sits at the table, nursing her hurt, a cup of tea untouched.
“Feeling better?” he asks. “Whats wrong? Work trouble?”
“No, works fine. Its home”
“Nikki, youre losing it!” Mark leans in, his voice firm. “Im not your assistant, your secretary, or your subordinate. I never nagged you about tiny things when you were at home, even when there were reasons. Youre not a robot; you can miss a thing or get tangled upno big deal. Well handle it together.”
“Easy for you to say! I used to juggle the girls and work from home. Now theyre older, they understand. You told me the dishwasher does the dishes, the washing machine washes, food can be orderedso why cant you do the basics? Why?”
Marks lips tremble with fury, but he controls himself. “What have you become? A scullion, a nobody, a housekeeper. Youll soon grow a belly from all this.”
“Nikki!”
“Dont shout; I know what youre saying.”
Mark storms off to the bedroom. When Nikki follows, he grabs a pillow and heads for the hallway, delivering one last line: “Im going back to work tomorrow! Find yourself another househelp.”
“You wimp! You quit over a few dirty plates,” Nikki hisses.
Mark, pillow under his arm, retreats to the living room. She fumes, then realises that Mark cant return to work immediately, not tomorrow. She doesnt chase him that night, apologises in the morning, and agreeshell need a job, but not straight away. He must find someone to pick up Lucy, help with chores. Her wait a bit drags on for three months; the bossy tone at home becomes the norm. She leaves a daily task list for Mark, checks it each evening, and if even one item is missed, she scolds both him and the girls.
“Tomorrow youll collect Lucy yourself,” Mark states one day, setting the fact.
“And you?”
“I cant. Were meeting friends.”
“Unbelievable! I work until seven, nine, sometimes ten, and youre off drinking with mates! I wont let you go. I have a planning meeting at seven tonight.”
“Im not asking permission; Im informing you. You have meetings every day, emergencies all the time.”
“I said no!”
Mark steps into the hallway, pulling on his coat and shoes.
“Where are you going?” Nikki shouts down the corridor. “I wont let you leave!”
“Im not your employee or your housekeeper. Goodbye.”
He slams the door; Nikki hurls a string of insults as he walks away.
That night Mark doesnt come home. In the morning Nikki sends him a list of instructions via messageswho to pick up, where to go. He doesnt reply. Later, unexpectedly, the nurserys caretaker calls, asking for Lucy because shes the last child left. Nikki drops everything, races across London to the nursery, firing off angry texts to Mark, who stays silent. He never returns that night.
Nikki is furious, not jealous. She knows no one needs him; people like her dont walk away. Yet Mark keeps quiet, and Nikkis own words turn into a bitter monologue. She forces herself to cope alone. Two weeks later shes spent, nerves frayed, sleepless, her boss irked, nannies quitting one after another. She calls Mark, demanding he come home.
“Ill collect the girls this weekend, but Im not coming back,” he says.
“Youre serious? You liked the freedom? Im not going to haul your kids any longer”
“Im filing for divorce,” Mark declares, hanging up, knowing Nikki wont say anything sensible.
Shes speechless, unable to believe he would go that far. The children hear her shouting into the phone, calling him a loser.
Later, their mother, Emma, pulls Emilys white school blouse from the washing machine. “How did he get those stains on the sleeves? I forgot how to be careful.”
Emily pulls out a blue packet from the dryer: an oxygen bleach. “First soak in hot water, then a 40minute wash. It works every time; my shirts are always sparkling.”
“Like a wizard,” Emma smiles. “He cleans my white trainers, removes stains from Lucys dresses.”
Emma sighs, remembering the endless little tasks at home and how much Mark used to handle them so she could focus on her career.
The couple eventually finalises their divorce. Nikki sets a timetable for the girls time with her and Mark. Mark continues to collect Lucy from nursery and drive Emily to school, doing it calmly, unaware of his exwifes harsh tone behind his back.
“Mom, wont Dad ever come back?” Emily asks one day.
“Where would he be? Hell sit with Mom and come when he feels like it. Who needs him besides us?” Nikki answers confidently.
Emily walks away, understanding that Dad isnt returning under these circumstances and that Mom isnt likely to change.
Mark returns to his old job a year after the split, marries again, and occasionally picks the girls up for a week or two. That suits Nikki fine. The only thing that still irks her is that her exhusband, a man with no ambition, lands another decent job quickly. Shes successful, smart, attractive, and stylish, yet no man sticks around after a few dates. She begins to wonder whats wrong with her.
